


Sometimes Labels Fail

by AdrianaintheSnow



Series: Labeled [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Gun Violence, M/M, School Shootings, Surgery, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrianaintheSnow/pseuds/AdrianaintheSnow
Summary: Logan was good at labels, at categories. Logan sorted the citizens of his city into 6 different categories in his mind: heroes, villains, vigilantes, criminals, government authorities, and civilians, and knew how to deal with each. But… but what was he supposed to do withhim.Virgil was just trying to survive, though he didn’t think the part of him that compelled him to throw himself into fights whenever he saw the superhero Bluebird struggling had gotten the memo. His English teacher was right; he really was stupid.When thevillaincriminal… when Shadow Caster gets injured while throwing himself into the line of fire for Logan, Logan can’t find it in himself to turn him over to be arrested. Luckily, he knows a doctor very, very well.Virgil is going to getkidnappedadopted by the end of it.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: Labeled [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616662
Comments: 399
Kudos: 1050





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Superhero AUs are fun, let’s do one of those with parental Logan & Virgil.
> 
> Logicality Goblin Brain: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Me: …

Labels. Logan was good at labels, at categories. He kept every aspect of his life organized from possessions, to documents, to his own mind. Everything had a place. Files in his office were color-coded: dark blue for work, green for personal, red (hidden in a secret compartment) for his extracurriculars, and one light blue binder stuffed under the floorboards that Patton would never, ever see. His email inbox was almost always empty; each correspondence was opened at the earliest opportunity and deleted, dealt with, or regulated to the appropriate subfolder. He kept a strict schedule: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for teaching and dealing with students; Tuesdays and Thursdays for research and meetings; Saturdays for Patton; and Sundays for rest. There were breakfast foods, dinner foods, snacks, and deserts. Though he did on occasion make an exception for putting jams (a breakfast food) in a cookie (a desert); Patton had had to work to convince him of such a thing. People in his life were strangers, acquaintances, or Patton. Acquaintances having the subcategories of co-workers, students, and Patton’s friends and family. Everything, in Logan’s mind, had a place. There was no room for an odds and ends drawer in his life even if he had to practically follow Patton around the house some days to make it so.

So why, _why_ , could Logan not figure this one out?

Logan sorted the citizens of his city (of the world in fact) into 6 different categories in his mind: heroes, villains, vigilantes, criminals, government authorities, and civilians, and knew how to deal with each.

Logan himself was a hero, complete with telekinesis, public support, and a mask that hid his identity. Bludgeon, the man he had just discarded unconscious and tied on the ground was a villain with all of the pomp and dramatics that came with the name even if he didn’t seem to have any powers other than impressive technology and a remarkable accuracy with guns.

…

Guns.

…

The woman who was rushing to collect the villain and the others buzzing around the scene were government authorities, namely, police officers. The couple of teenagers that were currently being thwarted from taking advantage of the chaos to steel a television by said police officers were criminals, separated from villains as they had no long-term goals for societal upheaval or dramatics. They were simply opportunists.

The young woman who bashed in knees and dumped gang members at the police station on Saturday nights was a vigilante, separated from criminals and villains by her intentions and separated from heroes by her means. The old man who’d shot Logan that once was also a vigilante despite Logan’s distaste for him. The new egotistical young man with super strength and a prince costume who’d started showing up to attempt to aid Logan was a ~~blundering idiot~~ hero. The chief of police who’d gotten kidnapped last week and was still recovering in the hospital was a government official; Patton said he was doing well, though he’d only seen him once after the surgery. Patton himself was a civilian, though no less important or skilled in Logan’s eyes.

The child who’d been told to run on strangled breath less than two minutes ago was a civilian too.

It was easy for Logan to take one look at people and put them into boxes, but what on Earth was he supposed to do with the figure bleeding out before him now?

Shadow Caster. When the man had first become known to the public, cloaked in shadows and silent in the night, he’d been branded as a criminal and an effective one at that. His activities often aligned with this classification: robbing banks, stores, and once, a museum. As more of his crimes came to light, the media had started hedging toward calling him a villain, especially with his powers. Then, he and the idiot prince had gotten into a ~~pissing match~~ fight which had ended in the destruction of some public property which was honestly more of the hero’s fault in Logan’s opinion, but the media had leaned into it despite the lack of deaths or injuries by Shadow Caster’s hand. To the contrary, there had been a rumor that he’d saved a couple from a crashed car once on his way back from robbing a bank, though that could have just been someone with a similar disguise.

Logan had honestly not paid him much mind. Whether a criminal or low-level villain, he had been far too harmless to concern Logan. He’d had only a one-page report in Logan’s red files detailing his existence for quite some time. Then, the incident happened.

An active shooter in a local high school. He’d killed every administrator in the front office before they could even send out an alert; the calls had started coming into 911 from panicked student’s cell phones as the shooter worked his way meticulously through the school, spreading carnage and taking hostages.

That is the first time Logan had ever come face to face with the Shadow Caster.

They hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t paused. Logan had been wrapped up in shadows, cool and not quite solid against his skin, hiding him from view and muffling his footsteps. Logan didn’t think he’d have been able to sneak up on the shooter without them, didn’t know how many more bullets would have flown, how many more would be dead, how many more _children_ would be dead. Even with the advantage, the shooter had managed to get off a few shots in the struggle, but he’d been blinded by shadows and only managed to graze three of the hostages.

After that incident, the public opinion of the Shadow Caster shifted bit by bit. He didn’t stop committing crimes, in fact, he didn’t really change his behavior at all, but reporters started looking harder. A few people saved here, a violent criminal stopped there. He helped Logan take down a villain a few times by clearing the area of civilians, so Logan wasn’t distracted. He’d once talked down a boy whose powers had gone haywire when Logan couldn’t get there in time.

Vigilante? The people questioned, but that was wrong too. His crimes were selfish not aimed to help the greater good.

Yet villain? Even criminal? Those tasted like ash in Logan’s mouth.

But what else was he? He was not a civilian certainly and he was definitely not sanctioned by the government.

The only thing left was hero, yet he was not that either. He was not a beacon of good in a mask. He did not go out of his way to help people or patrol. The acts of benevolence were performed on the way to or from his crimes. He acted when he stumbled upon dire situations, but that was not the goal. He was not a hero, but…

But, the people knew, when the worst came to worst, when there were villains who aimed to destroy and maim or natural disasters that threatened to level the city, they could hide behind him and be protected.

Logan knew, when worst came to worst, when his shadows could barely solidify enough to stop one bullet, but there were two bullets in the air, when it seemed he had to choose one or the other, in a split second, his shadows would come up to protect Logan from harm and his body would dive to protect the child.

So, what was Logan supposed to do with him?

In the time it had taken Logan to disarm the villain, Shadow Caster had managed to drag himself away, but he hadn’t gotten too far. Logan had easily found him. He’d left a trail of blood all the way to the small alleyway.

“Don’t,” he spat when he noticed Logan. His hands were covered in blood, one against the wound and one on the ground supporting his weight. “Don’t,” he repeated when Logan moved forward, but there was a shake to it this time. He curled himself around the wound the best he could without hurting himself further and Logan irrationally found himself wondering if he’d always been that small. “Don’t, please, I’m already hurt.” Well that was… distressing.

He crouched down to touch him gently on the shoulder. “It’s just me.” He flinched back at the touch.

“Please don’t,” he rasped, and Logan couldn’t see much of his face with the mask in the way, but he could see his eyes wet with tears and filled with pain and fear. “Please, I… I _helped_ you. Please.”

“And I’m going to help you,” Logan assured him, trying to ignore the uncomfortable squirming sensation in his stomach, before using his powers to maneuver the man into his arms. He wasn’t very heavy, shockingly light in fact, but he shook violently in Logan’s grip. Was it fear or was he cold due to blood loss? There was… a lot of blood, Logan noted, and his fingers were cold when they came up to push weakly at his face.

He had to use his powers to still his struggling, afraid he’d accidently drop him when he flew otherwise. It was difficult, but eventually he stopped trying to throw himself out of Logan’s arms to the ground below. Not because he’d calmed though. No, he’d lost consciousness.

The clear course of action was to take him to a hospital, but Logan knew if he did that, the man would be arrested as soon as anyone caught wind of it, and they would catch wind of it. That didn’t seem right under the circumstances. So, he took him to the only other place he could think to.

By the time Logan made it home, Patton was already rushing around, gathering supplies with a mask on his face (because he wasn’t stupid). “I saw on the news, put him on the guest bed.” Logan wondered how he’d known he was flying off to bring the man here instead of a hospital, as he realistically should have, but he didn’t ask. Patton probably had known Logan would end up here before Logan had known it himself.

Patton followed him up the stairs with armfuls of packaged bandages. The door to the guest room was already propped open and medical supplies were set out on a steel table that had been rolled into the room. The bed, usually covered with soft, pattern, sheets and a thick homemade quilt was now only covered in a white fitted sheet. There was a box of latex gloves set out on the nightstand and an organized collection of scalpels, clamps, still packaged needles, and vials of medicine laid out in reach. The room already smelled of disinfectant. He’d prepped for surgery.

As Logan set the bleeding man on the bed, he thought that he was likely right to do so. Patton was elbowing him out of the way the moment his hands were out from under Shadow Caster, gloves on his hands already. Patton didn’t hesitate to take scissors to the bloody fabric of the man’s outfit near the wound. Something flickered across his face when he saw the man’s stomach, a bit of Patton Patton slipping past the Doctor Patton countenance, but he determinedly shook it off.

“I’m definitely going to have to operate,” he said sounding unsurprised. He stripped the bloody gloves off and threw them away in a trashcan he’d set up next to the steel table. “Set up an IV, get the heart monitor going, and get the scope ready.” He walked into the bathroom and Logan heard water running. Logan jumped to do as he asked, snapping on gloves himself before moving to insert the IV.

Shadow Caster, unfortunately, woke a few moments after Logan stepped back from hooking up the heart monitor. His eyes flickered and he gave a confused, pained sound. He tried to move, to sit, and Logan quickly pinned him down with his powers. The heart monitor beeped faster, and Logan could feel him try to push back against his powers, not nearly strong enough to get anywhere.

“No,” he said weakly and tried to thrash. Shadows started to shudder and crawl at the edges of the room.

“Give him the morphine,” Patton ordered, lips pressed into a grim line. He was wearing surgical gloves now that went all the way up past the elbows.

The man on the bed was out of it, but he understood enough to struggle even harder at those words. Shadows lashed at Logan’s ankles, drawing blood. He hissed and batted them away with his powers. He grabbed the morphine and probed at the still struggling figure with his powers to get an estimate of his weight (very light for a full-grown man, he noted) before measuring an appropriate dose of medication and inserting it into the IV. His struggles weakened and then stopped. There was a moment pause.

“Lights,” Patton demanded, and Logan flicked his fingers so all of the lights in the room were at full power. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The surgery took a little over an hour. Patton had sent him to go take a shower when he’d finished and Logan had agreed, wanting to get the blood off of himself. This particular super-suit would be going into the fire.

He heard the guest bedroom shower going when he walked by and down the steps to the kitchen. The oven had been turned off and there was a partially cooked pan of lasagna cold on the rack. Logan went to the fridge and grabbed tubs of leftovers. Fridays were usually leftover nights and today was Wednesday. They’d have to figure out something else for that meal.

There was a small whine from the corner of the room and Logan looked over at the dog kennel in the corner. “When Patton gets down Missy,” he told her softly. She whined again.

Logan took what he wanted from the Tupperware and popped the plate into the microwave. While waiting for it to warm, he dished out a few more leftovers onto another plate. He put on an extra enchilada and none of the meatloaf. Then, he filled the kettle with water and set it to boil before putting away the other leftovers.

Logan heard footsteps on the stairs and Missy gave a plaintive bwoof. “Telling on me for not letting you out immediately?” he asked.

Patton chuckled as he entered the room. “Is daddy being mean to you again and not letting you go jump on our guest’s bed?” he cooed, walking over to unlock the kennel. Assumedly, that meant the guest room door was now shut.

“I am not that things daddy,” Logan groused.

Patton picked the mutt up and gave it a kiss on the head. “You love her,” he claimed.

“I do not,” Logan insisted.

“Do too.” He set the dog down and it trotted away directly toward the steps, probably to go sniff at the guest bedroom door.

“I tolerate its presence and feed it, that is all,” Logan informed him.

Patton hummed and walked over to lean against the counter next to him as he swapped out the plates in the microwave. “What about me?” he asked and stole a green bean from Logan’s plate. “Do you tolerate my presence and feed me too?”

“To be fair, you feed me a majority of the time. At least 75% of my meals any given week,” Logan told him, watching the thief’s movements.

“Ah, so you’re the dog then?” He popped the green bean in his mouth and immediately spit it out because it was too hot.

Logan smirked. “That is what you get.”

Patton glowered at him and then shuffled forward to bump his forehead against Logan’s shoulder. Logan raised his arm to allow him to cuddle into his side and wrap his arms around his waist. He clung hard for a few moments before his shoulders relaxed. Then, he tilted his face up expectantly. Logan raised an eyebrow. “Sure, you don’t want to kiss the dog again first?” he asked. Patton pouted at him, and how was he supposed to resist that? He leaned forward to kiss him, turning slightly and letting his hand train up his spine to the back of his neck.

Logan pulled back when the microwave beeped, and Patton made an unhappy sound. “Food,” Logan said.

Patton sighed and drew back to grab his plate from the microwave and pick Logan’s up from the counter. The kettle had turned off once the water boiled and Logan poured hot water over tea bags in two cups. He sat one down in front of Patton and took the other to where his plate already sat.

The dog came back into the kitchen while they ate, giving up on the guest bedroom door for now and settled next to Logan’s feet. He pocked her with his socked foot, and she rolled over onto her back happily so Logan could idly pet her stomach with his toes.

Patton finished first, twirling his fork between his fingers while he waited for Logan to finish, clearly with something on his mind. Logan set his fork down and tilted his head with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s been tortured before,” Patton told him, his voice clinical.

Logan blinked. “What?”

Patton’s fork continued to twirl, and his voice stayed steady, as though he were giving a report. “When I cut off his shirt, there was a lot of blood, but I could see scars too, some cuts and burns all too carefully placed to be an accident or from a life of fighting. I snuck a peak once you’d left and I’d cleaned away most of the blood. They go all the way up and all the way down, carved rather strategically based on nerve endings.”

“That would… explain a few of his mannerisms when I picked him up earlier. He likely fears being in such a vulnerable state if that has happened.”

Patton nodded. “He’s not going to wake happy,” Patton said. “At least one of us will have to be in the room as the drugs wear off. He’ll certainly panic otherwise and overreact, likely exacerbating his injuries.”

He’d probably panic anyway, Logan thought, and panic was if they were lucky. There was every likelihood he’d not only not wake ‘happy,’ but wake homicidal. He sighed. “It’s a good thing I don’t have to teach tomorrow and that you are not on call.”

The fork twirled and twirled between Patton’s fingers.

“Are you going to cry?” Logan asked.

Patton nodded and Logan got to his feet. He kneeled next to his chair and grabbed the fork from his hand to set it down on the table. Patton hiccupped and started to cry. Logan pulled him gently to his chest and let him. By nature, he was very bad at this, but practice had made him better. He rubbed his back with gentle circles and pressed his cheek on the top of his head. Eventually, Missy noticed and trotted over with a whine to scratch at Patton’s legs.

“Hey, Missy girl,” Patton said, sniffling. He reached down to pat her on the head.

Logan picked Patton up from the chair, using his powers to make it a bit easier. He carried him to the couch before letting go of him in midair. He yelped on instinct.

“Stop doing that,” he complained, squirming while suspended in the air.

Logan laid himself down on the couch. “That’s not what you were saying last night,” he reminded mildly and flicked a hand, so Patton rolled over in midair and then settled on Logan’s chest.

Patton rolled his eyes. His face was still puffy, but he’d ceased crying for the moment. He leaned his ear against Logan’s chest. “Maybe he was a superhero once,” Patton suggested, “and then someone did _that_ and he broke and decided being good didn’t matter. That would explain why he does bad things, but still helps people. Because he’s actually a good person. He’s just confused.” Patton had always been sympathetic to Shadow Caster, especially after the school shooting. Even when Logan had still been hesitant, Patton had made up his mind on the matter. He’d had to do surgery on some of the kids that day and if anything got to Patton, it was kids.

“Maybe,” Logan agreed. He hadn’t heard of a hero with shadow powers before he’d shown up. In fact, Logan had never heard of a super with such powers before him. Though it was possible he’d been a newbie below Logan’s radar who’d gotten caught up in more than he could handle too fast. It certainly sounded like a villain origin story.

“Maybe we could help him,” Patton said, biting his lips. “Remy’s boyfriend is a therapist.” Remy was a nurse that worked for Patton who lived mostly on coffee.

Logan hesitated. “Maybe,” he said softly. Patton was an optimist, Logan was not. “I don’t know if he’d accept something like that. I haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to him.”

“Well then you don’t know that he wouldn’t accept it.”

“…that’s true,” Logan said, he brushed Patton’s hair away from his face. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll just have to apply love and affection,” he chirped, propping himself up on Logan’s chest.

“Patton, he’s an adult man,” Logan pointed out.

“So are you and it works on you.”

“Does not,” Logan claimed.

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” he said, sticking out his tongue. Then, he leaned forward to peck him on the lips. “We should probably go clean up the kitchen and get our masks back on.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virgil: I have very high standards.
> 
> Anyone: Dude want this leftover slice of pizza?
> 
> Virgil: Oh no, you’re meeting all of my standards!

Virgil woke in pain which was not particularly unusual. What was slightly more unusual but not nearly as unusual as he wished and a lot more terrifying was that he felt drugged up. Not good.

He tried to remember what had happened to him, casting his mind back through his day. He’d been hungry, he recalled. He hadn’t managed to find breakfast and only vitamin water had been in the budget for lunch. The need for food finally won out against the need for caution once more and he’d gone out with the mask, hoping for a score and then…

Oh right, he’d gotten distracted. Stupid Bludgeon had attacked the city and, while Virgil really should have just ignored it, he’d seen Bluebird and he’d looked like he was kinda on his back foot and there’d been a bunch of civilians around since of course Bludgeon attacked a busy park because he was an asshole. So, like an idiot, he’d dived headfirst into the conflict. What was his problem?

He knew what he problem was, he’d gotten attached. Stupid. Bluebird bought him a sandwich once (once!) and he followed him around like a stray dog. It wasn’t like he would have done it if he’d known Virgil was Shadow Caster. He’d just taken pity on some poor homeless looking kid. He was a nice guy (or at least he had to maintain a public image of being a nice guy), it didn’t mean anything.

Try to tell that to whatever stupid, suicidal instinct activated in Virgil’s mind anytime they were in a fight together.

So, yeah, he’d gotten involved. He’d been content to let Bluebird throw the punches while he tried to get civilians out of there the best he could. That way Bluebird didn’t have to be distracted worrying about them. Then… everything had gone a bit blurry.

A flash of silver, guns, Virgil didn’t like guns. Not after he’d stepped over his own classmates’ bodies. Not when gunshots haunted his dreams even now. Not when he looked at the tile floor by his locker and still saw splattered red even if it had been cleaned away months ago.

Oh.

That’s right. He’d been shot.

It had just been a haze of pain and fear after that. He thinks he said something to the kid he’d taken a bullet for, and then he’d tried to limp off, but the bullet wound had been actually really bad, and he hadn’t gotten far. Bluebird had come after him, and sure, Virgil had just saved the man’s life, but he knew the superhero couldn’t exactly look down fondly on him. He was a villain after all.

Oh god, was he in a prison cell?

Oh god, was he _not_ in a prison cell?

Things happened to captured villains. Bad, bad things. Things that surpassed what he’d be getting if he made it home after this. To imagine he’d _want_ to be back home, Virgil thought ruefully.

He felt his heart rate speed up and then he _heard_ his heart rate pick up. Oh fuck. Heart monitor.

“Are you awake?” a voice he didn’t recognize asked.

Virgil went still which was stupid because, if he’d actually been asleep, he wouldn’t have reacted at all.

“Do you want some water?” the voice asked. “We have you set up with fluids in your IV, but I imagine your throat’s dry.”

The voice sounded nice? Maybe he was just in a hospital? It certainly smelled like disinfectant enough to be one.

He peaked open his eyes and, nope, not a hospital and not a jail cell either. A room, plain and simple, but definitely in someone’s house. That was disaster scenario. They wanted something or else they would’ve taken him to the police or a hospital. They didn’t want him in a system. They didn’t want rules to regulate what they could do. His breath hitched.

He looked over at the person who spoke. He was wearing a mask, but not one that Virgil recognized on the hero or villain scene. It was a simple black thing that hid the top part of his face, reveling only his bright green eyes and the curve of his lips.

“Here,” he said offering a bottle of water. Virgil eyed it suspiciously. There was a moment of silence and Virgil wondered if he had mind reading powers because he said. “You are already hooked up to an IV. I wouldn’t need to put anything in the water.” Right. Virgil reached out to take the bottle with slightly shaky fingers and took a sip. “Do you remember what happened?” the man asked.

Virgil nodded. “Got shot,” he said handing back the water bottle. “Bluebird found me. I’m guessing he flew me here.”

“Yep,” the man confirmed. “I had to perform surgery to get the bullet out and stop some internal bleeding.”

“F-fuck,” Virgil responded shakily. The man glanced at the heart monitor as it picked up again. That thing sucked.

“It went well,” he assured. “You shouldn’t have any issues.” Well, that at least sounded like the man expected Virgil to live for more than a few days so that was comforting. Sort of. “Do you mind if I check on the wound?” he asked.

“Sure,” he said because he wasn’t sure if he even had a choice to refuse. The man flashed him a quick smile before grabbing gloves and moving to undo the bandages with precise fingers, careful to block the wound with his hand so Virgil couldn’t see. “C-can I see it?” he asked. The man glanced up at him briefly before his eyes cut to a spot on his chest that Virgil knew well and oh, of course he’d seen all of that. Apparently, judging that he’d seen enough to not be squeamish or at least to know not to look if he was, he peeled back the bandages completely so Virgil could tilt his head to see it. “Wow, that’s really good,” he said impressed. He didn’t think he’d ever been sewn up that nicely before. Even that one time he’d gotten to see a real doctor in the ER.

“Well, I’d hope so considering all that money I spent on medical school,” he said with a chuckle, starting to rebandage the wound.

“You’re a real doctor?” Virgil asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, Bluebird didn’t just take you to some random person on the street and tell them to perform surgery on you.”

“That’s cool,” Virgil said. “Being a doctor. Do you like it?”

Something shifted in the man’s face and Virgil tensed, but he didn’t seem angry about the question. “I do,” he said. “I like helping people.” He snapped off the gloves and threw them into a trashcan before walking into a side room. Virgil followed him with his eyes as he washed his hands in the small bathroom’s sink. “There’s a package of crackers next to you on the nightstand. Try eating if you’re up to it.”

Virgil looked over. It didn’t look particularly appetizing at the moment even though he hadn’t eaten in at least 24 hours. He picked it up anyway. His fingers were shaking and slimy from sweat, so he wasn’t able to get a good enough grip on the plastic wrap to his frustration. The doctor came back over, and Virgil froze, but he just took it from him and quickly tore it open with ease before handing it back. Virgil looked at him for a moment before taking one of the crackers and starting to nibble at it.

“I’ll get you something more later if that goes down okay. I started some soup a few hours ago.” Virgil nodded and continued to nibble until one of the crackers was gone. He set the other one back on the nightstand for now. The doctor watched him with seemingly kind eyes, and he found himself relaxing slightly despite himself if only for the moment.

He went to push his hair out of his face and his fingers hit fabric. “You left my mask on,” he said dumbstruck.

“I’m a doctor. I follow the masking courtesy,” he said.

Yes, but that courtesy was for heroes which Virgil was not. “But… I.”

Again, Virgil thought he must be a mind reader, because he answered the question Virgil couldn’t get out. “You saved Bluebird and a civilian’s life at risk to your own. That’s more than enough for me to leave your mask on.”

“I, but I…” That was. Wow.

“Why do you think Bluebird brought you here instead of the hospital? He didn’t want you to be arrested because you helped him.”

“Oh?” He wasn’t sure if he believed that, but wouldn’t that be nice? For this to just be a kind thing. If anyone could be that kind, it would be Bluebird. Of course, if he did just let him walk after this, this all would probably be a useless venture. Because, after that, Virgil wouldn’t be able to stop himself from diving in front of another bullet for the man at the first opportunity. The man was watching him with intense eyes like he could read every one of Virgil’s thoughts on his face. Was he a mind reader? _Are you a mind reader?_ He did not answer. “Where is Bluebird?” Virgil asked.

The doctor’s lips twitched in amusement. “He’s right there,” he motioned to the floor with his head and Virgil looked down to see a person who was clearly Bluebird, yet at the same time, the man’s current state threw him for a loop. He was wearing the mask still, but instead of his normal superhero costume, he was wearing pajama pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He was sprawled flat on his back on the floor asleep. “He’s not as used to being up for such long amounts of time, the poor thing,” the doctor chuckled. He walked over to him. “Wakey, wakey,” he said and prodded him in the side with his toes. This is bizarre, Virgil thought as the hero startled away.

“Wha’s’it, huh,” he squinted sleepily up at the doctor. “Why?” he croaked confused. Despite his lingering fear about the situation, Virgil felt the urge to laugh.

“You brought a guest home last night, remember?” the doctor asked. Bluebird didn’t look any less confused. “He’s awake now.” He blinked slowly, and Virgil thought of the lights in his earth science classroom. Mr. Foiler was a pretty apathetic teacher who played movies at least once a week. When they were over, he’d flick the light switches from left to right. First the back ones lit up, then the ones by the board, then the middle ones, then the front row until everything was on and the classroom was bright. That’s what happened to Bluebird’s face in a few moments.

“Right,” Bluebird said, all business as he sat up to turn intense eyes on Virgil. “Hello.”

Virgil fisted the sheets in his hand. “Uh, hi?” He stood, and despite the pajamas and mismatched pattern socks, he still managed to cut an imposing figure, especially when Virgil was laying trapped on the bed, unsure if he could even stand with the pain in his abdomen or if he’d even be steady with the drugs still slugging through his veins. He didn’t think he had the strength to make shadows, let alone make them solid enough to put forth any type of defense. Bluebird, on the other hand, could toss him like a rag doll with barely a thought.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Uh, bad,” Virgil admitted as he had recently gotten shot, “but I’ve had worse.”

“I see,” and Virgil really wished he could see the man’s face at the moment because his flat tone gave away very little. He sounded maybe a bit angry? The doctor had said he’d brought him here and gotten him stitched up in thanks for the whole not letting him get shot thing, but did the doctor even really know him? Maybe he lied to the man to get him to do what he wanted. Maybe he had intended to be nice, but then Virgil pissed him off and now that was out the window. Sure, he’d been unconscious the whole time, but Virgil really sucked so he wouldn’t put it past himself.

A hand gripped his wrist making him jerk his head up to see the doctor’s concerned eyes. Right. Stupid heart monitor.

“So, am I your prisoner now?” he blurted. “Because if you want information, I don’t really have any about anyone but me and if you want information about me you can just take of my mask and do a google search or two but I’ve never talked to other villains or anything so I wouldn’t know anything about them, well I did talk to The Salamander once buthe’s already in prison soIdon’tthink you’d needinformationonhim anditwasn’tevenlikearealconversation, you know, I was stealingfromanATM and he was like doyouwanttoworkformeandIpunchedhiminthefacebecausehewasacreepsoIreallydon’tknowhissecretidenityoranyone’ssecretidentityexceptforminebutlikeisaidyou-”

“Hey,” a hand touched his shoulder and he snapped his mouth closed with a flinch. “You need to breath,” the doctor said. His eyes were kind and after the initial kneejerk reaction, Virgil realized the touch was pretty nice, gentle, but firm: grounding. “Can you breathe for me?” Virgil sucked in a breath. “There you go,” the doctor said and the hand on his shoulder patted him a couple of times. Virgil dared to glance at Bluebird. From what he could see of his face, he seemed… completely lost. Like Virgil in math class. He didn’t look like he was mad enough to punch Virgil in the face at the very least despite the doubtlessly incomprehensible ramble he’d just sprouted.

Virgil saw the doctor move his head in a sharp motion out of the corner of his eye. Bluebird’s eyes flashed to him for a moment and then back to Virgil. “You are not a prisoner,” he said. “Though for medical reasons, I suggest you not leave yet. However, once you have healed enough, you are free to go.”

He seemed to be telling the truth. It would make sense that he was telling the truth with all Virgil knew about him. He was a pretty stand up guy. He was Bluebird, the quintessential superhero, well trusted by the public since before Virgil was even born. He was a beacon of kindness, a symbol. He was a good guy. But, like, so were a lot of adults. Didn’t usually work out well for Virgil.

He had bought Virgil that sandwich though. _You are not a stray dog._ Yeah… but food though. “Okay,” he replied softly.

“Okay?” Bluebird questioned, and yeah, that was definitely confusion. The doctor coughed. “I mean,” Bluebird said, “okay!” and shot him two thumbs up. Virgil snorted out a surprised laugh and then ducked his head trying to hide his face with his hair in embarrassment despite the fact that he was still wearing a mask. Bluebird was a dork, who would’ve known.

“Yes, he is always like that,” the doctor offered, giving him one last tap on the shoulder before drawing away.

“Like what?” Bluebird asked.

“Adorable,” the doctor responded, reaching up to pinch his cheek playfully as he walked toward the door. Bluebird batted at him, but he was already gone. “I’m going to go check on the soup,” he called from the hallway.

Bluebird turned to Virgil looking, well not as nervous as Virgil himself was, but he was a close second. “Do you have any needs I could provide for?” he asked. “Or, perhaps questions I could answer? This is my house, if you would like to know.”

Virgil bit his lip. “Is that… what you were saying, is that real or was it just for the doctor’s benefit ‘cause he seems like he couldn’t really stomach stuff and you don’t want to upset him?”

“If you are asking me if I plan to torture you for information you don’t have, or information you do have for that matter, then the answer is no,” he said, his awkwardness gone and replaced with that firm intensity Virgil was used to seeing both on the news and in person.

“Okay,” Virgil said again. “Cool, thanks.”

“Okay. Cool, thanks,” Bluebird echoed seeming to chew on the words.

Virgil shrugged at him which seemed to confuse him even more.

They were silent for a while. “So,” the man said with a cough. “You like to rob banks.”

Virgil stared at him for a moment. He didn’t look accusing or anything, after all, it was no secret that Virgil was a thief. It wasn’t even posed as a question. “I, uh, wouldn’t say I like it. I’m good at it, but it’s not really what I want to do with my life.”

“Ah,” he said. “I like space.”

“Oh my god, are you trying to discuss interests with me?”

He bristled. “That is what acquaintances do, is it not?”

Wow. Virgil leaned back down to stare at the ceiling. “I would take another bullet for you.”

“That will not necessary,” Bluebird was quick to say.

“Especially after I just sewed you up so nicely,” the doctor interjected in a stern voice from the doorway. Virgil tilted his head to see him. He held a tray, and when he got closer, Virgil could smell chicken broth which wasn’t usually on his top ten list of smells, but today it smelled amazing. He hadn’t been hungry up until that moment, but suddenly, his stomach jerked awake with a vengeance. He moved to sit up and went a bit too fast letting out a pained whine. “Slowly,” the doctor reminded with a frown.

“Sorry,” Virgil said quickly.

The doctor’s face gentled. “Here, let me help.” He set the tray down on the nightstand and then helped prop Virgil up with some pillows.

“Thanks.”

The doctor smiled in response and then picked up the tray again before settling it into his lap. “Now, eat up. We want to make sure everything’s working okay after the surgery.”

Virgil nodded and reached for the spoon, eyes watching the other occupants of the room carefully, not wanting to upset them especially since they were offering food. The doctor actually seemed pleased that he was eating. “Here, have some bread and butter too,” he said, and his hand came forward to grab the knife Virgil hadn’t noticed. Virgil jerked back violently, and the tray went flying, but instead of Virgil’s legs being scalded by hot soup, the tray and all its contents froze in midair.

“Sorry,” Virgil chocked out, tears building up in his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m, I should have,” the doctor stuttered. “I’m going to take this downstairs.” He grabbed the knife out of the air and rushed out of the room.

“S-sorry.”

“It isn’t a problem,” Bluebird said calmly. The tray flipped back upright slowly, probably so he didn’t freak out again and fuck up something else. Virgil watched the objects moving through the air.

“You have a lot of control,” Virgil said amazed. It was one thing to toss stuff around, but it was a totally different thing to have enough precision to stop a liquid in midair.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Bluebird replied easily.

Virgil’s eyes flickered to him and then to the beads of floating liquid. “Can I touch it?” he asked.

“If you’d like.”

Virgil reached out a finger and poked the nearest bubble of chicken broth. It gave slightly at his touch like it was incased in a clear balloon. Weird. “Woah. That’s awesome.” The tray settled back onto his lap, the bowl and non-knife silverware taking their places on top of it, but the liquid remained in midair for the moment. A few bubbles of liquid started to move, floating through the air lazily. “Man, that has to take a lot of practice,” Virgil said.

“You can blame your doctor for that,” Bluebird said. “He makes me throw popcorn and soda into his mouth from across the room,” the edges of his mouth quirked up, “also, he’s rather clumsy. This is not the first tray of food I’ve saved in my time.”

Virgil puffed out a laugh. “It’s really cool though. I don’t think many people with telekinesis can do this, right?”

“No, it takes more practice than most people are willing to put in. Most are content with just building strength, not dexterity,” he tilted his head at Virgil. “What about your power? If I may ask. I’d never heard of someone having the power to manipulate shadows before you.”

“Oh, I just have light manipulation powers, nothing that special. I can do the normal things too, but I learned to use it in the dark so I’m more practiced with that.”

“It’s light manipulation?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s less me making shadows and more me shoving away light, I think.” He made a small shadow appear between his fingers and held it up for him to see. “I think I must take some of the heat with the light because they’re usually kinda cold.” He had it wind around his fingers like it was a small snake.

“Fascinating,” Bluebird breathed, “and how do you make them semisolid?”

“Not sure, really,” he said. “I think maybe I’m forcing enough energy into the edges to make it work.”

“Hmm,” Bluebird said. One of the floating bubbles of soup caught Virgil’s attention as it floated by his mouth. He leaned forward slightly to snap his mouth around it. Bluebird chuckled as the bubble popped in Virgil’s mouth. “Still hungry?” he asked.

“I only got like two spoonfuls,” Virgil responded.

“Well, then perhaps it is time to stop playing with your food.” The hovering soup floated down toward the bowl and settled there.

“Lame,” Virgil grumbled.

“Eat the damn soup,” he laughed.

“Language,” the doctor gasped playfully, walking into the room. He turned his concerned eyes on Virgil. “You doing alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just kinda panicked.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” the doctor said. “No harm done.” He reached slowly over to give him a hair ruffle with the gentlest touch imaginable. Virgil smiled at him and ate his soup.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the dad instinct Logan. That’s what you’re feeling.

Patton had said Shadow Caster wouldn’t wake happy, and Logan had silently agreed, but he had been expecting a very different type of unhappy than what they were getting. Logan had anticipated fear, of course, but he’d imagined it would be the angry or even violent type of fear. It wasn’t. It was something else.

He was rather… docile for someone who routinely committed crimes in a mask. He never looked like he might go on the offence. Logan imagined he wouldn’t even if they did try to hurt him. He was always twitchy, shrinking away and startling when they acted too quickly or too loudly. He watched their hands with careful eyes and had trouble making eye contact. He’d recoiled when Patton touched a butter knife. It was disturbing and made his hackles rise for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

Logan watched him closely throughout the day. Patton gave him a pair of loose pants and a hoody to replace the bloody and torn outfit he’d come in with; it completely swamped his smaller frame. He liked to try to hide in it, pulling his hands in and tucking his chin under the neckline until he was just a dark grey blob. He had a tendency to curl around his wound protectively, as though scared it would be taken advantage of despite the fact that Patton had stitched it up with his own hand. He looked so small like that.

Yet, despite his fear, there was a softness to him too. He responded well to Patton, which, to be fair, it was Patton, but still. He’d gone so far as to chuckle at a few of Patton’s ridiculous jokes even if his eyes flickered to Logan as though to make sure he wasn’t in trouble for doing so. Patton lit up every time. He’d already been ready to befriend him before he’d woken up. Then he’d woken frightened and soft spoken and any caution Patton had with regards to him was quickly thrown away as his ‘dad friend’ mode activated at hyper speed. There was nothing for it now. Not that Logan was particularly worried.

Shadow Caster had proven himself trustworthy before now enough, at least, for Logan to bring him here and just a few conversations with him had… something stirring in Logan.

He looked at Logan in a certain way, maybe not trustingly, but like he wanted to trust him. He smiled when Logan did something for him or offered him something. The curious way he’d looked at the soup floating in midair reminded him of his favorite students. The way he’d leaned forward and snatched a bit of liquid out of the air was something Patton insisted on doing on the regular and left him with a fond feeling in his chest.

He watched with that same burn of fondness as Shadow Caster peaked his face out of his hoody bundle to watch Patton intently. The “apply love and affection” plot was fully in motion and Logan thought it may actually work if given enough time. Patton had begun his story a few steps away from the bed. He was regaling him with a story about Remy (not using his name of course) post appendicitis. The man had managed to somehow bribe or blackmail three separate coworkers to smuggle him Starbucks coffee before he’d been cleared to eat by his doctor. Patton had been forced to repeatedly intervene as the coffee schemes got more and more complex and underhanded.

While Patton had been speaking, he’d edged his way closer to Shadow Caster like he was a startled stray animal and the story was a piece of ham. By now, he’d managed to sit on the edge of the bed without his target startling. His hand snuck out as Logan watched to softly touch him on the calf, his mouth never pausing. Shadow Caster definitely noticed, but he didn’t seem alarmed and he didn’t draw away. He just glanced at the hand and back up, maybe a bit suspicious, but far more confused than uncomfortable. Logan watched the interaction curiously. How did Patton do these things? It was like magic.

“I eventually brought him coffee myself once he was cleared by his doctor, but I don’t think he has ever completely forgiven me.”

“He hasn’t,” Logan commented as quietly as possible to still be heard, not wanting to break whatever spell Patton had cast and cause the man to launch himself directly onto the ceiling like a startled cat.

Patton looked over to glare at him with a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you two get together to talk about me?” he asked.

“Only on Tuesdays,” he replied. “We exchange notes.”

Patton chuckled and patted the man’s leg before withdrawing the touch completely and standing. “Well,” he said. “I think it’s about time for supper. Any requests? Traditional post-surgery food is ice cream.”

“For tonsillitis, Doctor,” Logan chided, rolling his eyes.

Patton didn’t acknowledge him, just wiggled his eyebrows at the man on the bed, but he did not laugh as Patton had probably been aiming for. Instead, he had stilled. “Dinner?” he asked. “Wait, how long have I been here?”

“Around 18 hours. It’s slightly past 6pm now,” Logan answered.

Shadow Caster sucked in a panicked breath, eyes widening. He made to sit up completely, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, not seeming to notice the pain that he had to be in at the sudden movement. Patton took a startled step forward to block his way so he wouldn’t stand. Logan noticed the shadows at the end of the room shudder a bit at his upset. “Oh god, oh god, I missed school. Ha- I mean, my foster dad is going to _kill_ me.” Then his mouth clicked closed and his eyes widened as he realized that in tripping over himself to not reveal a name, he’d accidently revealed other, perhaps more pertinent, information about himself.

“Your what?” Patton asked. He’d straightened like someone had pulled a string attached to the top of his head, poised and still like a dog on point. He turned suddenly intense eyes on Shadow Caster. “How old are you?” Shadow Caster shrunk back into the bed, eyes wide and more terrified than they’d been when he was bleeding from a gunshot wound.

And oh, so many things made more sense now: the strange vulnerability instead of the expected angry defensiveness, the smaller frame and lighter weight, the different speech patterns, the childlike curiosity. The fact that he’d somehow ended up in the middle of a school shooting during the day despite the fact that all of Shadow Caster’s activities took place exclusively during the night before and after the incident.

“That’s why you showed up at the school,” Logan said. “You attend the high school.”

“Oh my god,” Patton whispered. “Oh my god, how _old_ are you?” The boy, the actual literal child apparently, shook his head in response, and Logan didn’t want to think about why he seemed to be more afraid of them hurting him now that they knew he was a child than he had been before. Tears were streaming down his face and he was trembling in terror. Patton, of course, being an empathetic crier started tearing up too. Oh no. Now they were both distraught. What was Logan supposed to do about this?

Think logically.

He threw a hand toward the bathroom door and a roll of toilet paper flew into his waiting palm. He tossed it at the boy, and it smacked him in the head before falling into his lap. He seemed stunned into calm by the action. “For the um,” Logan tapped his cheek. The boy blinked at him as he shifted from one foot to the other. “Apologies, we don’t stock tissues in this room.”

Patton was still sniffling softly. “Oh honey, you try so hard, you really do. I love you.”

“Thank you?”

The boy was still staring at the toilet paper roll. He looked up at Logan and then over at Patton and then back to the toilet paper. Then he started to cry again. Well, that didn’t work.

Luckily, Patton seemed to know what to do from here. He sat next to him on the bed and plucked the toilet paper from his hands. He tore off a couple of sheets to wipe at his cheeks with a gentle hand, then hushed him and, in spite of Shadow Caster’s clear fear toward them, managed to coax the boy forward so he was leaning his head against Patton’s chest.

“It’s okay,” Patton soothed. “You’re okay. Hush now.” He rubbed a couple of calming circles into his back and pressed his cheek against the top of his head. He side-eyed Logan meaningfully.

Logan took a cautious step toward them and Patton flashed him a hint of a smile. Okay, that is what Patton wanted from him. He took a couple more steps toward the bed and sat carefully on the bed next to them, opposite the boy from Patton. Patton raised an eyebrow at him, and he blinked back blankly. Patton gave a fond eyeroll and grabbed one of his hands from where it was sitting on the bed, guiding it onto the back of Shadow Caster’s head. Oh, okay, Logan could guess what he was supposed to do from here. When Patton released him, he gently ran his fingers through Shadow Caster’s hair. Even though he trusted Patton to know best in situations such as this, he was still surprised that the touch caused the boy’s shoulders to relax a bit.

“We would like to know you age,” Logan said firmly, but punctuated the demand with a soft scratch of fingernails to his scalp. “We aren’t angry, and we won’t cause you harm.”

He paused long enough that Logan didn’t think he’d capitulate. “I’m 15,” he answered finally.

He saw Patton’s lips turn down in displeasure.

“You’ve been active in the city for over a year!” Logan said in surprise. “You’ve been robbing banks since you were 14?!” He flinched away a bit and Logan grimaced at his own tone and started the head scratching again in hopes it would pacify him. It seemed to work.

“Thirteen actually,” he mumbled.

_Thirteen_ Patton mouthed.

“Why?” Logan asked. A 13-year-old robbing a bank was more than strange especially without outside influence and Shadow Caster had always worked alone. What would possibly prompt such behavior?

“I needed money,” he answered simply.

“You were 13. Why would you need money? To buy coloring books?”

“ _Blue_ bird,” Patton scolded.

Shadow Caster shrugged. “Food and cloths mostly. Life’s kinda expensive and I couldn’t exactly get a real job even if I thought I’d be allowed to.”

“Food and cloths,” Patton said blankly.

“Yes?” he replied as though _he_ were the one confused about _their_ behavior.

Patton looked distressed not that Logan was fairing much better. “That is not something a 13-year-old, or a 15-year-old for that matter, should be worrying about. Certainly not to the degree where they feel compelled to rob banks,” Logan said.

“Yeah, maybe,” Shadow Caster replied noncommittally.

“Yeah, definitely,” Patton corrected and moved back to search his face. “Did… your scars… did your foster father do that to you?” he asked. Oh. Oh, that hadn’t even occurred to Logan. The way the boy’s fingers gripped the sheet tighter next to his leg was all the answer the adults needed. “You aren’t going back there,” Patton concluded.

“What?” he asked.

“You aren’t going back. I’ll kidnap you. Would you want me to kidnap you?”

“I…” he looked at Logan for help. Logan shrugged. He certainly had no moral qualms with the idea. Though, he figured there were probably less extreme methods they could take before getting to that point. He’d talk Patton down privately later. Well, maybe. “You…” the boy continued. The ‘yes’ was clear in his eyes even to Logan as he hesitated, fingers curling and uncurling in his lap, and wasn’t that horrible. One meal and a couple of hugs from Patton could convince him that he’d be better off with them than his current living situation. “You could get in a lot of trouble for that,” he finished.

“I don’t care,” Patton said instantly. Logan knew him enough to know he was telling the truth, “and that’s not an answer.”

He hesitated again but then slowly shook his head. “No, I… I couldn’t. It’s… I’m a minor. You’d get in so much trouble and I have to go to school. People would notice if I just disappeared from school and they’d call the cops. You can’t just… No.”

“Fine,” Patton agreed. “We’ll figure something else out then, but you are never going back there,” he promised.

Shadow Caster did not look completely convinced, but he nodded. Patton moved to pull him into a hug, and he went willingly.

Patton looked at Logan over the boy’s head, a certain glint to his eyes that Logan understood instantly. It was a rare sight, but one that Logan was intimately familiar with. He remembered with clarity the day it was set on him. He hadn’t known what it meant at the time, he just knew he’d suddenly been unable to breath. Now he knew what the look was. He’d seen it leveled at different things throughout the years: the kitchen in this house, the god-awful rug in the living room, the dog, the caffeine addicted nurse. _It’s mine now,_ the look said, _I love it, and it’s mine_ , and once Patton decided that, there was no fighting him on it, not even when it had been Logan himself. It was a good thing the kid was an orphan, because Logan guessed he was a dad now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virgil comes to the conclusion that he’s willing to die for any living thing in this house. (So basically they feed him again.)

Virgil had absolutely no idea what was happening honestly. The last 48 hours had been a wild as fuck ride. At 8am two days ago, he’d been already half asleep in earth science class watching some movie about igneous rocks. Since then, he’d failed another English quiz, gotten shot, gotten operated on by Bluebird’s boyfriend(?) (husband?), slept in Bluebird’s house, and had been told that he wasn’t going to go back to Harry even if the doctor and Bluebird had to kidnap him to make it so. The conviction with which the doctor had made that proclamation had left Virgil speechless. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to believe he really wasn’t going to have to go back, but god did he hope he didn’t. If for no other reason than he didn’t want to face whatever punishment he’d get for not only missing school, but also for not going home for two nights in a row.

Last night, they’d fed him a dinner of spaghetti and roasted vegetables and the doctor had brought him strawberry ice cream despite Bluebird’s protests. (“You’re a doctor!” “Exactly. I know more about health than you do.” Cue irate sputtering.) After dinner, the doctor had helped him walk up and down the hallway a few times. He was really sore, but he could get around okay enough which seemed to make the doctor happy. After that, they’d left him alone for a bit, only coming back to check on him a couple of times before going to bed. He totally could have made an escape attempt. Of course, they did say he wasn’t a prisoner, but still. They’d even let him sleep by himself despite knowing he was partially mobile.

Virgil had let curiosity get the better of him a little past midnight and snuck out of the room to see if this was all for real. A glance into the room a few doors down let him know that they did actually fall asleep with him unrestrained in the house. He could have even taken a look at their faces if he was a jerk and brave enough to risk their ire which he certainly was not.

He’d made it down the stairs unhindered and found himself in a really, truly normal house. He’d found a dog, jumped on top of a chair in surprise when it yipped at him, and then pet the dog for about 20 minutes or so. Then, unsure what else to do, he’d gotten himself a glass of water (making sure to clean, dry, and replace the cup) and went back to bed.

Now, he’d just been woken by a knock on the door. “Can I come in?” the doctor’s voice asked.

“It’s your house,” Virgil pointed out.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

He opened the door and gave him a smile. “Can I rebandage your wound?” Virgil nodded and he went off to wash his hands in the bathroom before changing the bandages. “It looks good,” he said, and Virgil had to take his word for it, because it looked pretty shitty to him: red and kinda swollen around the stitches. Then, he handed him a change of clothes he’d brought and left to wait for him in the hallway while he changed.

Once Virgil was finished, he led him down to the kitchen with the promise of breakfast. The dog trotted over expectantly, and Virgil carefully went down to his knees so he could pet it without pulling on his stitches.

“That’s Missy,” the doctor informed him. Missy yapped at him and hopped a couple of times to try to lick his face.

“Hello Missy,” Virgil said seriously. “I would die for you.” He jumped a bit when a hand ruffled his hair, but it was gone after a moment as the doctor walked over to where Bluebird was cooking. His hand got smacked with a rubber spatula as he reached toward a plate of bacon, but it didn’t deter him as he snatched a piece away.

“That’s for the omelets,” Bluebird scolded as the doctor danced away. He tore the strip of bacon in half and offered once piece to Virgil. Virgil took it surprised and had to push Missy away as she lunged, quickly stuffing it in his mouth.

“Thanks,” he said once he’d swallowed. He gave the disappointed pup another pat which seemed to placate her before carefully maneuvering his feet back under him and slowly standing back up.

The doctor had moved to grab cups from a cabinet. “What do you want to drink?” he asked. “Pineapple juice, milk, water, tea?”

He would have said water, but Bluebird mumbled, “please consume the god forsaken juice,” under his breath. The doctor reached over to smack him on the arm.

“What’s wrong with the juice?” Virgil asked.

“Nothing,” the doctor told him. “There was just a sale at Costco.”

“Who needs a dozen gallons of pineapple juice?” Bluebird asked.

The doctor frowned at him. “It was a good deal!”

“I’ll, uh, take the juice,” Virgil said. “Please.”

The doctor smiled at him and poured them each a glass of juice (Bluebird apparently didn’t get a choice about the pineapple juice) and set them around the table while Bluebird flipped the omelet. The doctor then ushered Virgil toward one of the seats at the table. Virgil sat obediently and watched the man go back to the counter to grab a plate stacked high with toast.

“I can help if you want,” he offered.

“Oh, absolutely not,” the doctor chirped. Virgil fidgeted in his seat as butter, peanut butter, and two types of jam were set on the table along with silverware. Bluebird finished the omelet in the meantime and flipped it onto a plate. He set it down in front of Virgil before going back to the stove to work on another one. Virgil blinked down at the omelet. It wasn’t quite restaurant standard, but it leaked a little bit of cheese out of the side and was just slightly browned; it looked fantastic.

“Go ahead,” the doctor said when he didn’t move to eat it. “No need to let it get cold.”

Virgil slowly reached for the fork, cut himself a piece of omelet, and put it in his mouth. The doctor really didn’t seem angry that he was eating so he allowed himself to enjoy the bite and then take another. The doctor leaned forward, and Virgil tensed, but he just grabbed a piece of toast and tossed it onto Virgil’s plate. Wow, Virgil would die for any living thing in this room.

“This is really good,” Virgil said.

“It is one of the few things I can cook well. I sustained myself almost purely on egg dishes through my late teens and early twenties.”

“Mood.”

He turned around. “I…” he looked at the doctor. “am I supposed to know what that means?”

“You’re in your 50s so your probably okay,” the doctor answered.

“Do you know what it means?” Virgil asked.

“For the most part.”

Bluebird finished the second omelet a few minutes later and handed the plate to the doctor before turning back to cook his own. The doctor went about putting jam on his toast and Virgil’s hand itched to shove a piece of toast into his pocket for later while the doctor was distracted and Bluebird had his back turned (it would be so easy), but they’d been too nice to him for him to steal from them. Plus, he didn’t know if they’d be asking for these cloths back soon and he didn’t want to have to deal with the consequences if they found him out. Instead, he drank a sip of the juice (it was actually really good, he didn’t know what Bluebird was complaining about) and worked on finishing his omelet while watching the other occupants of the room.

Missy pranced over to the doctor and pawed at his leg. He glanced over at Bluebird and quickly ripped off a piece of his omelet and fed it to the dog.

“Stop that,” Bluebird whipped around wielding the spatula like a weapon. “Stop feeding that thing from the table!” It was, of course, far too late; the bite of omelet was already halfway to the dog’s stomach.

“She deserves it,” the doctor argued. “She’s a baby.”

“She’s a dog!” He transferred the last omelet to his own plate and turned off the stove before walking over to the table. He bumped into the doctor’s chair on his way by. The doctor tore off a bit of toast and threw it at his back. Missy lunged to gobble up the fallen toast.

Virgil sipped at his juice while watching them eat with interest. They were flirting, he thought, but, like, in a domestic way instead of the way people did at school. He wondered if they were dating or married or what but wasn’t nearly bold enough to ask.

Despite his complaints, Bluebird drank the juice without comment and let the dog lay on his feet while he ate.

“So,” the doctor said when they’d all finished. “We have a plan.”

“Is it a legal plan?” Virgil questioned.

“It is,” Bluebird assured, a hint of amusement coloring his tone.

“Okay,” Virgil responded. “Uh, I’m listening then.”

“You will likely be uncomfortable with parts of the plan,” Bluebird informed him.

“But hear us out because we promise we’ll be careful about everything.”

That sounded suspicious. “Okay…”

“The general idea is, we have a medical professional document your scars and turn them over to the police thereby triggering a criminal investigation and intervention from social services.”

“And you think that will work?” Virgil asked, trying to not sound quite as dubious as he was. That wasn’t a plan. That was expecting the system to do its job which it had already proven itself incapable of doing. Maybe they should just throw a penny in a toilet and make a wish while they flushed it.

“When faced with evidence and your testimony, the appropriate authorities will have no choice but to take action,” Bluebird replied, confident.

“Tell that to my freshman English teacher,” Virgil grumbled.

A hand reached over the table to cover his. “If it doesn’t work,” the doctor said, “we’ll just kidnap you and come up with another plan, but you aren’t going back there. Over my dead body.”

“Which would only happen over my dead body,” Bluebird said dryly.

“Love you too,” the doctor said without looking away from Virgil. Damn. They were actually serious.

“It won’t come to that,” Bluebird said. “The kidnapping or the death.”

“No, it won’t,” the doctor agreed. “There’s a specific nurse we plan to contact about the photos. His name is Remy. He’s really nice and will make sure the police get the right information.”

“He has also proven himself willing to be discrete. We will transfer you into his care so there is a level of protection as to your actions as Shadow Caster from the police.”

“Of course,” the doctor interjected. “That will mean you’re going to have to take off the mask before we meet up with him kiddo and, to the two of us, your secret identity is going to be shot.”

“Yes,” Bluebird agreed and then paused. “Wait,” he turned to the doctor. “Please tell me that wasn’t a pun. That is not an appropriate joke to make in this situation.”

The man in question sipped at his pineapple juice innocently.

“P-Doctor!”

Virgil coughed out a laugh.

Bluebird sighed. “As I was saying, Remy will turn you and the photos over to the police. From there, everything should take care of itself.”

“I’ll make sure it takes care of itself,” the doctor said, voice steely. Virgil wondered exactly who this man was under the mask. What influence did he have that he thought he’d be able to do something as miraculous as make the system do its job?

“This really isn’t just some convoluted trick to get me to reveal my identity so you can arrest me, is it?” Virgil asked.

“Of course not,” Bluebird said. “As you said earlier, we could have just taken off your mask and done a few google searches.”

“Right,” Virgil said. He drank the last of his juice and set the mug on the table. “Yeah. Okay.” Despite the fact that it felt rather silly, his hands still shook as he reached up to take the mask off his face. “My name is Virgil.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remy spoke like five lines in this entire story and he managed to steal my entire heart.

The boy, Virgil, shivered on the rooftop despite the old coat of Patton’s that they’d wrapped him up in, and Logan did mean wrapped; he looked like a toddler in it because of its size. How did Logan ever think he was an adult? He was tiny (too small, in fact, for 15). He fidgeted nervously as they waited, eyes casing the area as though, despite their reassurances and the irrationality of the thought, he still though this was going to be some cruel trick that would end in pain. Shadows shifted near his feet, barely noticeable unless you knew to look. One curled up around his ankle. A self-comfort habit?

“Hey, you seem cold kiddo, here,” Patton said, opening his arms. Virgil eyed him for a moment before shifting forward to let Patton hug him. He was oddly trusting for someone with his history if you could call it a history with how recent it was. He was 15 and only just with the vulnerability of childhood not quite burned away. It was enough for Patton to wiggle his way through his defenses as Patton was known to do.

He also seemed comfortable around Logan which was a strange experience as people usually shied away from him in the beginning; he often terrified his students for at least the first month of classes and he had a resting ‘I’ll cut you bitch’ face according to Remy. Patton had been a rare and notable exception to that rule, though to be fair, he’d been operating on a rather severe sleep deficit upon their first meeting.

Of course, it was not as though he and Virgil were only just meeting for the first time today even if he’d only just learned his name less than 3 hours ago and the boy still did not know his own. They had managed to build a certain level of rapport over the last year. Logan had been around at what was likely some of his most vulnerable moments. Beginning with the horror in the school, in _his_ school, and ending with him bleeding on the pavement. He’d formed some sort of attachment bond to Logan or as Patton put it when they’d had a moment alone this morning: ‘you’re the closest thing to a safe adult he’s had in the past year, just give him affection. Please stop panicking about this.’

With the mental reminder, Logan reached over to give him a soft pat on the head and the shivers, already lessened in Patton’s arms, stopped altogether. Shadows shifted and twined around Logan’s ankles with not quite solid pressure, like a steady stream of cool air curling around him. Fascinating.

Logan could not help but feel fondness curl in his chest when Patton smiled at him, wrapped around the child. He hadn’t bothered to even try to argue when Patton had informed him that they’d be keeping the kid (after some legal hoop jumping of course). He had figured after all.

Logan didn’t have any objections anyway, though he predicted he’d be a complete nightmare eventually when he finally felt safe enough around him. Logan knew enough to anticipate behavioral issues in the future: testing boundaries or simply not having a frame of reference for appropriate behavior. It would be a headache, surely, but Logan did not think he’d find it in himself to regret it.

“Suuup gurls. Wanna tell me why you summoned me to this rooftop at ass’crack o’clock in the morning?” a voice asked.

“It’s 10:30am,” Logan pointed out, turning toward the man who had just come through the rooftop door. He noticed Virgil pull away from Patton quickly.

“Yeah and I worked a shift until 7am,” Remmy grumbled, taking a sip from his coffee cup.

“Thanks for coming Remy, I know you’re probably very tired,” Patton said.

Remy waved his hand through the air dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, just add it to your coffee tab. Or create a coffee tab or whatever since I don’t know who you are stranger behind the mask.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You know why you’re here?”

“Yeah, yeah we Gucci.” God Remy was even more intolerable when tired (which was basically all of the time.) Yet, Logan beckoned Virgil over to himself.

He took a cautious step forward and Logan put a hand on his shoulder. “This is Virgil,” Logan said. “Virgil, this is Remy, he’s a nurse.”

“Hi,” Virgil said softly.

There was a moment’s pause where Remy shifted gears. Remy was annoying at best most of the time, but he was a good man and perceptive. Annoyingly perceptive often, but he’d proven himself many times over. “Hey baby,” Remy said. “Guessing you’re my newest patient.”

“Yeah,” he replied, curling his shoulders up and looking away.

“No need to be nervous, kid. I’ll buy you a coffee on the way. I need one anyway and we’ll have a nice chat about whatever kids like these days like, what, the Ninja Tortoises?”

Virgil gave him a look, suddenly too taken over by the oh-god-this-old-person-doesn’t-know-what-he’s-talking-about distress to be any other type of distressed.

“Yeah,” Remy said. “Didn’t think that was it. You’ll have to update me on what kids are into now while we go to the hospital. Then, we’ll have our fun, quick little photo shoot and I’ll even give you a sucker at the end.”

Virgil bit his lip and Patton reached over to rub his back. “It’s alright kiddo, Remy’s good.”

“Annoying,” Logan couldn’t help but contribute, “but good.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Stick in the Mud,” Remy said. Virgil smiled a bit, the traitor, and Remy winked at him and offered a hand. “C’mon babe.”

Patton gave him a light push, and he walked forward to Remy. Remy put a careful arm around his shoulder.

“He has a fresh gunshot wound to his abdomen,” Logan said. “I expect it won’t make it into the photos.”

“A gun shot wound, huh,” Remy said, eyes locking with Logan’s for a brief moment before scanning his new charge up and down with perceptive eyes. “I see.” Then he shot Logan an annoying half smile. “Don’t worry, babes, I stitch, I don’t snitch.”

“Remy,” Logan said firmly.

Remy’s face smoothed out. “I know you don’t know me,” he said. “It _isn’t_ like we have Tuesday coffee dates at least twice a month or anything, but you know you can trust me.”

Logan pursed his lips but nodded.

“Alright kid,” Remy said, “time to go. The coffee in the hospital’s not the best, but they have this thing call the Remy Special I’m gonna get you. It’s three pumps of dark chocolate, two of white chocolate, and five of Carmel. Six expresso shots blended with ice and topped with double whipped cream and milk chocolate sauce. You won’t need to sleep for days.”

“Don’t you dare give him that,” Patton warned, his voice dark enough to make even Logan shudder.

“Or what?” Remy asked unconcerned. “It’s not like you’re my boss.”

Patton gave him a very unimpressed look, and Virgil giggled a bit despite not knowing what the joke was. Remy gave him a soft smile and tugged him toward the door. “Time to go baby.”

Virgil looked back at them briefly. “Thanks,” he said quietly before he let himself be led into the stairwell.

Logan turned to Patton with an intentionally blank expression. “This is the first and last time we are letting Remy babysit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, this particular story only has one more chapter (though I have more planned for this universe). I'm going to do a thing on my tumblr writing blog, [@snowdice](https://snowdice.tumblr.com) which is just like a bonus features/fun facts type post after each multi-chapter story ends. It will have things like what the title of the story was before I actually named it (usually a meme), comments about inspirations for certain parts, and fun facts about the universe that didn’t make it into the story. If you have any ideas about what type of information you’d want in this bonus feature post, feel free to send me an ask on my tumblr or comment here. Anonymous asks are open if you want to send those. I’ve already been answering asks about this universe and having a fun time which, if you're interested, you can see them [here](https://snowdice.tumblr.com/tagged/sometimes-labels-fail-asks/chrono)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the child sleep.

For the next three days, Virgil was a human hot potato. He was relentlessly tossed back and forth between a gaggle of cops, attorneys, and social workers. He wasn’t sure what strings Bluebird and the doctor had tugged on, but they were certainly effective because, not only was he being taken out of that house, but criminal charges were being thrown at Harry like they were eggs and he was the local high school’s principle’s car on Halloween. Like, shit, is this how the system was supposed to work?

He was grateful for everything all these people were doing (even as he chafed under the pointed attention he was receiving), but he was utterly exhausted by this point and sore from the bullet wound none of them knew about, and he really wanted to collapse into a bed, any bed. Instead, he had to settle on leaning his head on the table in front of him and taking long, slow blinks that may or may not have constituted mini power naps.

“Virgil,” a voice said, and he just about jumped out of his chair. He looked up at the social worker, Bev, he was pretty sure. “Logan Sanders is here,” Virgil squinted at her. “Your temporary foster father,” she prompted, inclining her head slightly at the man next to her. Oh right, that had been a conversation they’d had: emergency fostering while the investigation was taking place, two guys, something, something about the university nearby; he’d zoned out pretty hard.

He hopped to his feet in a panic, because no one wanted to deal with a kid who was too lazy to even peal his butt off a chair to greet them even if they only had to deal with him temporarily. “Hello, sir, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he responded, his lips turning up at the corners enough to soften the harshness of his face, “and Logan will suffice.” He offered a hand and Virgil shook it.

After a brief conversation between Logan and the social worker that Virgil mostly tuned out, he was turned over to the man’s custody and led to a parking garage. He was ushered into the front seat of a nice, but not too flashy car.

“I’ll buy us lunch on the way,” he told Virgil once he’d started the car. “Any preferences?”

“No, thank you,” Virgil replied. “You don’t have to.”

“Well, I’m going to,” he said.

“Anything is fine.”

“Alright.” He pulled out from the parking garage and they drove for a bit more than five minutes before they pulled into a small parking lot of some place called ‘The Hideout’. “They have a drive through, but would you mind going inside so you can see the menu?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Despite feeling like he could collapse from exhaustion at any second, when they walked into the café, he was glad he agreed because the place smelt amazing, like roasted coffee and really good bread. Something about the place made him want to relax even though there were people around. Maybe the soft lights or the elevator music in the background. Maybe it was just that none of the people there even glanced at them when they walked in, just kept their heads stuck in laptops, books, or notebooks, like there was an unwritten rule to mind their own business in the building.

The man at the till looked at them when they approached. “Hello Professor,” he greeted. Virgil paused. Oh, that’s why the social worker had been talking about the university. Oh god, if he was a professor, he wasn’t going to be happy with Virgil’s D average, was he? Virgil’s shoulders curled in. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“-and whatever Virgil would like.” Logan had finished ordering while Virgil was lost in thought. He hadn’t even glanced at the menu yet.

“Uh, do you have any suggestions?” he asked Logan.

He hummed, thankfully not seeming angry that Virgil couldn’t perform the basic task of ordering off a menu. “Do you prefer turkey or roast beef?” he asked.

“Turkey,” Virgil replied.

Logan turned back to the cashier. “Then, make that two of the turkey,” he said. The cashier’s eyes were bopping curiously between Logan and Virgil, but he didn’t ask any questions. Virgil shrunk into his hoody anyway. “Would you like some coffee or tea?” Logan asked him.

“I would kill a man for a cup of coffee,” slipped out before Virgil could stop it.

Logan chucked at him. “Alright,” he said. “How do you take it?”

And if he was going to give him positive reinforcement for being a little shit… “as black as my soul.”

“I see,” he said, turning back to the cashier. “You heard him, one glass of milk.”

“Hey!” the cashier bit his lip and Logan flashed a half smile. “I really do drink black coffee,” Virgil mumbled.

“Then two black coffees, cancel the milk.”

The cashier told them the total, and gee that was a lot of money for someone to pay for lunch for him, but Logan didn’t even blink as he handed over a twenty and a five.

“You get chips with the sandwich,” Logan told him and spun a dolly with chips to grab a bag of salt and vinegar ones. Virgil grabbed a bag of plain ones and then followed him to a nice secluded corner. “Patton and I come here often,” Logan explained, setting out the little number so someone could find them with their food. Virgil figured he had probably been told who Patton was one of the times he’d been asleep with his eyes open the past couple of days. His husband? Virgil wondered. He had a ring on, and he knew he was staying with two men, so it was likely. “It’s within walking distance of the hospital and the campus but is far enough away from the university that I don’t get interrupted by students who see me and want to ask me questions that are already answered on the syllabus.”

“Do you enjoy being a professor?” he asked.

“I do. It’s quite a rewarding career path between getting to teach and being able to research.”

“You do research?”

“Yes, mostly I’m working on using stochastic differential equations to model certain physical phenomenon at the moment.”

“That sounds,” he paused, “hard.”

“It can be.”

“I always liked math and science, but I’m not really good at it.”

“Hmm,” he said. “As someone who has taught for many years, I’ve found that an inability to perform to standard in such subjects often has more to do with circumstance: past teachers, higher priority responsibilities, and home life,” his eyes lingered on him for a moment too long and Virgil squirmed. Of course, he had to know something about the situation considering the ongoing investigation thing, but Virgil did wonder how much, “than with innate ability,” he finished.

“Yeah, uh, maybe,” Virgil said even while he didn’t truly agree. Virgil was pretty stupid.

“Perhaps I can help you. What classes are you taking?”

Remedial everything. “For math and science? Pre-algebra and Earth Science. I’m also in Freshman English and Band. That’s it.”

“Ah yes, the high school does the block schedule,” Logan said, then he gave a curious head tilt. “I thought you were a sophomore.”

Virgil looked away. “Uh, yeah.” He could feel his cheeks start to burn.

“I see.” There was a pause as Logan processed just how stupid Virgil was. “And what instrument do you play?”

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was something he wasn’t a complete failure at. “Clarinet.”

“Ah, reed instruments. My age-old foe.” He said it so seriously that Virgil couldn’t help but snort.

“Lost a few battles with them?”

“Have you ever attempted to play the oboe?” He spat the name like it was a curse.

“I have in fact,” Virgil laughed, and Logan smiled at him in an oddly warm way. An employee came over with their food then.

They continued talking while they ate, though Logan talked a lot more since Virgil was preoccupied with shoving the sandwich down his throat, almost definitely looking like a rabid animal. It was a _really_ good sandwich. He slipped the bag of chips into his hoody pocket for latter and drank the coffee while Logan went about actually chewing his food.

The caffeine helped a bit, but he certainly didn’t feel completely awake when they walked back to the car. Logan didn’t seem to mind when Virgil just set his head against the window and mentally drifted during the car ride. Eventually, they pulled into a driveway and Virgil sat up to blink at the house at the end of it. Then he blinked again.

“Did I,” he said slowly, “just get legally kidnapped?”

“Ah,” Logan said, “That would be an astute observation.”

“Huh.”

“Is that alright?” he asked. Virgil turned to see him watching him carefully. “Patton can be rather, err, exuberant.”

“I mean… this might as well happen.” He was far too tired to deal with figuring out how he felt about this. He remembered he’d really, really wanted it for a moment before he quashed those feelings after the doctor, Patton he presumed, had first suggested it. He didn’t know how he felt about it now that it was actually happening and didn’t have the energy to deal with it.

“I can take you back,” Logan offered quietly, and an uncomfortable, squirmy feeling in his chest cut through the dullness for a moment at the thought. “At any point if you are uncomfortable with the arrangement.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “This is, like, a lot, and I’m really tired, but it’s fine I think.”

“Okay,” Logan said.

“Can I please, _please_ sleep for a bit though?” he asked.

Logan’s eyes softened. “Of course. Patton prepared your room for you in the last few days. We’ll get a few other things for it later.”

“I would take a sleeping bag in the basement at this point.” Logan briefly pressed his hand to Virgil’s shoulder before he got out of the car.

Wow, Virgil thought, his shoulder still warm from the touch. There was, of course, no assurance that this would actually be an ultimately good thing, he reminded himself, but… but, wow.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a new writing tumblr blog @snowdice. Asks are open.


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